


Turnabout

by prophetkristy



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: 3.12 "Rapture", F/M, Hurt/Comfort, UST, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-19
Updated: 2008-05-19
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:32:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prophetkristy/pseuds/prophetkristy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wishes his wings actually meant something, so he could challenge that two-timing frakker Lee Adama to a Viper death duel. (Post-episode for "Rapture".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnabout

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to [Gaeta Squee](http://gaeta-squee.livejournal.com/214483.html).

"Hey." Dualla finds Gaeta in the conference room just down from the CIC, papers scattered in front of him as he works on the Admiral's morning briefing. He glances up at her with a distracted grin as she dogs the hatch shut behind her.

"I've got the port counts and fuel reports," she says, dragging a chair next to his with a metallic _screeeeeech_ against the deck.

Gaeta takes the clipboard she hands him, dark eyes not leaving his screen. "Great. I'm almost done here."

He can feel her looking at him. "I hear you saved the Fleet . . . again."

"Huh?" That makes him look up at her.

Gentle admiration plays around her eyes. "Predicting the supernova?" She's sitting sideways in her chair, facing him, elbow planted on the back of the chair, cheekbone resting on her fist.

"Oh, that." He'd never dream of lording it over anyone—he was just doing his job—but with her, he can't quite keep the hint of pride out of his voice. Looking at Dualla, though, he's once again reminded of the stakes. "I'm just glad we got you all off the planet." One side of his mouth quirks, sly. "Though twenty cubits says I can still fly better than you."

Felix means it as a tease—he only just barely deserves the wings pinned over his breast, and it's one of their old jokes. To his surprise, though, Dee bursts into tears.

"How could he ask me to do that, Felix?" she sobs.

He doesn't need to ask what she's talking about—for the record, he's just as furious at Lee Adama for sending his wife after his shot-down mistress. He leans over to take her into his arms, report forgotten. The embrace is only partially selfless; he wants to comfort her, but he also cannot bear to look at the pain on her lovely face. She buries her face on his shoulder, and he allows himself to stroke her hair. "Hey now," he murmurs. "I'm sure there was nothing personal involved, and the Major was just putting his closest asset on the job." Now if only he can bring himself to believe what he's saying.

Maybe she senses his own doubt in Lee's professionalism; as she pulls back slightly to look at him, sniffling, there's skepticism all over her face. Felix can't help but notice that somehow she has ended up halfway on his lap, and her arms are still around his neck. She smells faintly of the gritty excuse for soap that's stocked in the head these days, with spicy hints he has come to associate with her. He reaches up to soothe away tears from her dusky skin, his other hand on the small of her back. Dee manages a brief, watery smile, one of her hands slipping down to smooth the damp patch darkening the blue suede on his shoulder. "Sorry about your uniform," she whispers.

"Don't worry about it." Normally spots on his jacket would bother him, but seeing her hurting drives everything else from his mind. Maybe it was inevitable, maybe half the crew (hell, who is he kidding—all the crew) saw it coming, but Lee still has no right to frak around with Kara Thrace while he is married to Dee.

"You sure?" Her face is very close to his, making the logical voice in the back of his head issue reminders that the woman in his arms is married to someone else.

But suddenly, she is kissing him, and he doesn't care about logic when her fingers are sliding through the curls at the nape of his neck and her tongue is tracing his lips. Felix pulls her closer against him, opening to her, trying to suppress a moan at the warmth of her mouth. She tastes like coffee and spice. She shifts to straddle his lap, hips grinding against his, and he does moan softly at that, exquisite warmth shooting through him.

He breaks off his exploration of her mouth to trail kisses across her cheekbone, below her ear, down the delicious line of her neck, but as she pulls his head back up to kiss him harder, the damned logic-voice manages to drown out the pounding of his heart. Pulling away from Dee is one of the hardest things Felix has ever done.

Dee has undone the top buttons on his jacket and slipped a hand inside, and her fingers tighten on his shoulder, warm against his skin, caressing thumb slipping beneath his tanks. Trembling, she leans forward to press her mouth to his again, but he doesn't respond, and braces his hands on her shoulders to pull her gently away. She searches his face, eyelashes sparkling with tears; he thinks he's never wanted anything more than to kiss them away. "You don't want me, either," she says, barely audible, eyes falling.

"You know that's not true." His voice is husky, and she can hardly fail to notice his body's reponse. Gods, how can she think he doesn't want her? Her hair tumbles around her shoulders (he must have loosened the tie holding it back), framing her slightly flushed face, and she has never looked so beautiful. How can he tell her that he was a fool not to realize how he felt about her until she was married to someone else? That every time he looks at her across the CIC and sees the light glint from her wedding band, it feels like a golden noose around his heart? How much he wishes his wings actually meant something, so he could challenge that two-timing frakker Lee Adama to a Viper death duel? How much he wants to tell propriety and honor to go frak themselves and push her back on the table atop the reports?

He keeps his hands properly on her shoulders, that and a tenuous shred of self-control the only things keeping him from losing himself in her touch, her scent. "Dee, you're hurting, and you want to hurt your husband the same way he's hurting you." It's a fight to keep his voice steady, especially with her weight against his erection, and he fails to keep the word "husband" from coming out a bit strangled. "But you'll hate yourself, and me, if we do this. I value your friendship too much to let that happen." Her hands are resting lightly against his chest now, and he has to look away, but can't keep himself from continuing softly, "If we're ever together, I want it to be for the right reasons."

Felix forces himself to meet her eyes, brushing her hair tenderly from her face. A single sob escapes Dee before she lurches forward to embrace him. "I don't deserve you, Felix."

 _Lee doesn't deserve  you, Gods damn it,_ he thinks, but knows he can't say it. He just forces the teasing note back into his voice and blinks back his own tears before drawing back to smirk at her. "No, you really don't deserve me."

Dee's eyes are bright, but she smiles and punches his arm softly. "Shut up."


End file.
